


Busted and Blue

by Poplitealqueen



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: (don't wanna spoil all the fun stuff to come now do I?), Bisexual!Tucker, Budding Love, Dips into Season 13 but it starts in that nice middle area oh so ripe with fanfic potential, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Tucklix, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Set between Season 12 and 13, Tucker is trying to get over it while Felix is mildly obsessive, Tuckington - Freeform, Wash is awkward, felix is a douche, quote mildly unquote
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 13:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11149794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poplitealqueen/pseuds/Poplitealqueen
Summary: “You never had an AI try to kill itself in your head,” Wash said with an unusual fretfulness to his words. His hands are white-knuckled around his third cup of coffee. “I know what I’m talking about when it comes to stupid decisions being made for you because of someone else’s personal bullshit, Tucker. It’s best to just move on. Don’t forget. Just move the fuck on.”Chorus is, as always, a fun, fun place.





	Busted and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker wakes up in Armonia, and he's fairly sure, like 90-85% sure, that he has a crush on a certain former Freelancer. Also, Caboose heals with hugs, Church is an asshole (surprise, surprise), and *gasp* Carolina is actually worried?! WHOA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo, new fandom! Okay! No need to be nervous, me. You can do this.
> 
> I'm used to writing gay military types in space, but there's usually more lightsabers involved. This should be interesting.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Pop
> 
> PS: Yes, it's from the super fantastic Gorillaz song. I love that song, man.

Tucker woke up in a room with a white-paneled ceiling and a window above his head that faced a blank wall. Tubes were sticking out of him, his side hurt like hell, he couldn’t find his sword, and immediately, without missing a single beat, he said, “Where the fuck am I?”

“Armonia General,” replied a familiar voice, and Tucker rolled over (wow, did that hurt) to find Wash sitting on the edge of a medical bed across from him. He smiled at Tucker. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Captain.”

Tucker narrowed his eyes and tried to sit up (wow, did _ that _ hurt. Why did everything have to fucking hurt?). He got about halfway there before pain lanced up his side, tightening his throat and doubling him over.

Wash is beside him in moments. “Easy, Tucker, easy,” he kept saying, easing him back against the pillows.

“Ow. _ Shit. _ ” Tucker glanced down the length of his chest, bare except for off-white bandages wrapped around his middle. They were beginning to fade to a dull rusty red-brown in the middle. Right. Felix. Stab wound. Awesome.

Wash followed his gaze. “The biofoam must be breaking down,” he said, clinically. “I’ll go get the doctor. Don’t move.”

Before he could leave, Tucker grabbed Wash’s wrist and didn’t let go. Being reminded of Felix only reminded him that he didn’t know what the hell had happened to the mercenaries after he’d revealed to the entirety of Chorus that they were traitors. “We won?” He asked. “We fucking won, right? Please tell me I didn’t get stabbed by that asshole for nothing.”

Wash, gently but firmly, pulled Tucker’s hand off of his wrist.

“We fucking won,” he agreed. “I’ll tell you more after Doctor Grey helps you out.”

As if on cue, a petite woman armored in white with purple trimming came into the room.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Doctor Grey said cheerily, making her way over to the IV drip beside Tucker’s bed. She had another bag in her hand, and quickly switched it out. “I heard someone needed a med cocktail.”

“You… holy  _ shit _ … bet.” Tucker sank bank against his pillows as bliss filled his senses. Everything suddenly felt really,  _ really _ nice. “I love you, Doctor Grey.”

“I know. Everyone does. Now, let’s take a look at that, shall we?”

Wash stepped aside as Doctor Grey set to work unwinding the bandages from Tucker’s side and examining the wound. She hummed as she worked, while Wash stood behind her with his arms crossed, watching carefully.

Tucker blinked up at him sluggishly, and occasionally winced when he felt the sharp prick-and-pull of a needle and thread. He forced himself not to look down as Grey worked.

“Where’s everyone?” he asked, the words slurring together no matter how carefully he pronounced them.

Wash scratched at a scar on his cheek. “Last time I checked, the Reds were helping the rebels move themselves into Armonia. Carolina is with Doyle and Kimball, and Caboose is helping to repair damages across the city caused in the firefight.”

Tucker heard the soft  _ snick  _ of scissors cutting something, probably string, followed by Doctor Grey declaring that she was nearly done. She patted his hip until he lifted it a little of the bed, and then she scooped up the used bandages in her arms, deposited them on a nearby table, and picked up a roll of fresh ones.

“So, everything’s cool.” Tucker asked as Grey bent awfully damn close to wrap the bandages around his middle. He pressed his teeth together and imagined a naked Jackal covered in whipped cream. The image worked. Grey was done before long, and pressed a hand on his belly until he laid back down.

“There. All finished!”

Tucker pressed experimentally at the new bandages on his abdomen, mostly out of fatalistic curiosity. Pain raced up from his stomach right to his throat. He winced, muttered a sharp,  _ “Fuckshitfuck” _ and dropped his hand back to his side. The med cocktail was already beginning to fade.

“You’re lucky,” Doctor Grey said with her usual perkiness. “Two centimeters to the right and that knife would have cut right through your transverse colon. That wouldn’t have been quite as fun.”

“Lucky lucky me,” Tucker agreed halfheartedly. There really wasn’t anything  _ fun  _ about getting stabbed, but he wasn’t about to argue with a woman that could slice him up and put him back together without ever losing the smile on her face. “When can I leave?”

“Oh, not for a few days. We don’t want you to develop peritonitis, now do we?” she asked with a friendly pat on his head. “You just relax, Captain Tucker, and I’ll be right in the other room if you need anything.”

With that, she left, leaving Tucker wondering what exactly peri-whateverthefuck was as Wash went back to the bed across from him and began to get dressed. Unlike Tucker, he’d escaped with mostly bruises. Along with the dozens of old scars stretching across his skin, they made his back and chest look like Expressionist painting, and Tucker found himself staring as he pulled a charcoal-grey shirt over his head and clipped his dog tags around his neck.

“She’s letting you out already?” Tucker asked, incredulously. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Wash gave him a tired smile. In fact, almost all of his looks were some variation tired. It was either paranoid or tired with the man. It made him look way damn older than thirty.

“I wasn’t stupid enough to get stabbed,” Wash said as he shrugged on a thin black jacket, “but if it makes you feel better, I have to wait to put my armor back on.”

“Sucks to be you. At least you don’t have a tube stuck up your--”

“SIR!”

Tucker closed his eyes. “I thought you said everyone was busy,” he accused. Wash just shrugged at him.

The “SIR!” was repeated again, and Tucker groaned. He knew that voice. It wasn’t a Red or a Blue. Of course, of course, of  _ course _ it had to be--

“It’s me. Palomo? Remember me, Captain?” The lieutenant asked gleefully as soon as he was around the door, followed swiftly by Bitters, Smith, and Jensen in civilian clothing. General Kimball remained against the doorway, nodding once at Wash as the rest of them crowded around Tucker’s bedside.

“Fuck off, Palomo,” Tucker said swiftly.

Palomo grinned, his green eyes brightening. “I knew you’d remember me!” he said, wrapping his arms around Tucker’s shoulders and squeezing. 

Tucker pushed at him. “I wasn’t stabbed in the head!”

“We’re tho glad to thee that you’re alright, thir,” Jensen said, pressing herself in beside Palomo to place her hand on Tucker’s arm. “You were  _ tho  _ brave.”

“Brave, indeed,” agreed Smith.

Bitters crossed his arms. “He was okay.”

When it felt like Tucker couldn’t take anymore, the lieutenants stepped aside to allow up to the bed. The General doesn’t rush, and neither does she crowd Tucker too closely.

“You did good,” she said. “Chorus is lucky to have you.”

Tucker felt his face heating up. He waved the comment away. “It was whatever,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Kimball smirked at him, before placing a familiar handle on his bed. Tucker grabbed his energy sword ecstatically.

“You did  _ good _ ,” Kimball repeated, moving her gaze from Tucker to Wash, who had commandeered the only chair in the room. “Both of you. I expect you’ll be important assets once you’re fully healed. We’ll need you in the fights ahead.”

Some time later, Tucker let out a sigh of relief as soon as Kimball and the lieutenants were gone, and glared over at the only chair in the room. Wash still hadn’t moved from it, but his nose was now buried in a datapad as his pale eyes drifted across rows of words that Tucker couldn’t see. He had one foot resting on the other knee and was leaning back in the seat, yet still he looked as tightly wound as a coil, like he was ready to get up and start fighting at the drop of a hat.

“What are you reading?” Tucker finally asked, when it became obvious that his  _ stare-of-death  _ was going unnoticed.

“Reports on Charon’s forces after what happened at the radio jammer,” Wash replied without looking up.

Tucker rolled his eyes. He’d kind of been hoping for porn, or  _ anything _ that wasn’t the usual military bullshit.  _ This is Wash, dumbass _ , a helpful little voice said in the back of his mind. “Boring.”

Wash’s eyes flicked up, the grey pale enough to almost look like ice. “It’s important stuff. We haven’t had any news on the mercs yet--”

“Probably because we scared them off!”

“ _ Or _ they’ve gone off-planet to find reinforcements,” Wash countered as he took his foot off of his knee and rested the datapad there instead. “Which means we’re in some deep shit when they get back. We need to be prepared.”

Tucker slumped back against his pillows, arms crossed over his chest (after he untangled himself out of the IV. Stupid thing), and went back to  _ stare-of-death _ ing Washington. Wash just stared back with one eyebrow raised, prepared to argue, and suddenly it felt like the Crash Site all over again.

In Tucker’s opinion, they were already in deep shit. They had been since they’d crashed onto Chorus; since they’d been recruited into a civil war that should have ended years ago and turned into heroes they’d never actually been.  Couldn’t get much deeper than that.

“Can I read it?” Tucker suddenly found himself asking, his words clipped and sharp and filled with the potential for argument.

Wash actually looked surprised. “You really want to?”

“What? I’m not allowed to be curious?” Tucker demanded, holding out a hand. “Lemme fucking see.”

Wash still looked surprised as he picked up the datapad and held it out. Tucker grabbed it at just the right angle for his fingers to brush Wash’s, and the other man visible twitched before hastily pulling away. Tucker elected to ignore that and propped the datapad on his stomach. Wash was always twitchy.

He did about a page and a half of scrolling before he handed it back. Boring, boring, and more boring. Nothing but statistics and casualty reports. Not exactly Tor-level reading.

“Finished already, huh?” Wash joked as took it back and slid it onto the small table behind him. Tucker clicked his tongue at him. 

“Not my genre,” he said and Wash laughed at that.

“Not mine either, honestly,” he replied. “Just better to know, right?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Wash tucked his hands beneath his armpits and regarded Tucker with a familiar look. It was the kind of look that meant twenty more laps around the Crash Site or fifty more push-ups. It was Wash one step away from being pissed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wash asked gently.

Tucker played with his dreads, sweeping them off of his shoulder. “Maybe you’d be in less of a morbid mood all the time if you stopped constantly looking at morbid shit.”

Wash pursed his lips at him. “I’m sorry, should I just pretend we’re on them vacation? War doesn’t take breaks, Tucker.”

“I get that.” Tucker clamped his mouth shut and forced himself to think. He didn’t know why he felt like arguing this, and he didn’t know why he suddenly desperately needed Wash to see that he didn’t need to be on all the time. He could turn all this stuff off and relax once in a damn while. 

Right?

“But--” Before Tucker can finish, a rapid succession of loud knocks shakes the door of the room. Tucker punctuates the end of his half-begun sentence with a groan. Who could it be this time?

Wash smiles ruthlessly at him and goes to open the door. All of Blue Team pushes past him as soon as he does, decked out in full armor and surrounding Tucker’s bed before he can so much as say, “Not you assholes!”

Carolina was her usual aloof self, or, at least, she tried to be. Despite her best efforts to act like she didn’t care, she wouldn’t stop asking Tucker if he needed another pillow, if he was comfortable, or if he needed something to eat or drink.

“Cee, relax,” Church appeared in the air next to her helmet, his holographic sniper rifle resting loosely in his hands. “He just got stabbed.”

Tucker held up his middle finger at the AI. “Fuck you, dude. It fucking hurt.”

“Whatever, you big baby. You’ll live. I’m surprised you haven’t made a joke about extra holes yet.”

Tucker snorted. “Bow-chicka-bow- _ OW!  _ Fuck! Caboose, get off of me!” Tucker pressed against the heavy, blue-armored body until finally moved away from him. “What the hell?”

“I’m supposed to give you a big hug to make you feel better. Doctor’s orders,” Caboose said, and from anyone else, Tucker would have taken it as some kind of sarcastic joke. But from Caboose, well, Caboose  _ always _ meant what he said.

Behind Caboose, Church was laughing. Even Carolina let out a chuckle or two, and Wash was grinning.

“Fuck  _ all _ of you,” Tucker said, before letting out an undignified yelp when Caboose pulled him into another crushing hug.

“Doctor’s orders! Feel better, Tucker!” Caboose said brightly.

“Where. Are.The.Reds. At?” Tucker managed out once Caboose had let him go and all his bones had shifted back where they were supposed to be.

“Training. I think you scared them a bit by acting like a Freelancer and doing something badass,” Church said. “Even Grif is in on it.”

_ Even Grif.  _ Well, fuck, that was the real miracle of this situation.

“We could go get them, if you want,” Carolina offered.

Tucker was still confused as to whether he liked this side of Carolina or not. Honestly, it was a little creepy.

“I’m good!” Tucker said, a little more hastily than necessary. “I’ll catch up with them once I get the hell out of here.”

By the time the Blues finally left, it was already dark outside the one window above Tucker’s bed. Exhaustion pulled at Tucker’s eyelids, and the throbbing around his stab wound was getting worse. Never mind if she was nuts, Doctor Grey could whip up an amazing pain med cocktail.

Wash hadn’t left with the rest of the Blues. In fact, he was undressing and climbing into the bed across from Tucker.

“I thought you were free,” Tucker grumbled.

Wash still had his dog tags on around his neck, but his shirt was gone and so were his pants. His boxers were grey with yellow stripes on them. “I’m still on observation. Doctor’s orders.”

Tucker rolled his eyes and put his arm over them at the reference to Caboose’s words from earlier. “Oh, fuck you by the way for inviting them over. Kimball and the lieutenants just really weren’t enough, were they?”

When Tucker pulled his arm away, Wash was lying on his side facing him, chin cradled in one scarred hand. The bastard was actually smiling.

“C’mon, you enjoyed it.”

Tucker scowled at him. “About as much as getting stabbed, dick.”

“Hey, at least you can say you’ve done it now.”

Tucker, with some trouble, rolled onto his side to face Wash as well. It was not comfortable at all. Fucking stab wounds suck.

“So how come Locus didn’t stab you?” That question had been plaguing Tucker since the moment he’d seen Wash. 

Wash’s face takes on a distant, thoughtful look. He let out a sigh and rolled onto his back, folding his arms behind his head. “Hell if I know.”

“Maybe he likes you, dude,” Tucker said with a snicker.

“Sadism means someone likes you?” Wash’s mouth quirked up sardonically. “By that logic, Felix must have the biggest crush on you, asshole.”

Those words lodge themselves into Tucker’s mind like a bullet. It was painful. It made the stab wound feel like a bruise. Something must have shown on his face then, or maybe Wash was just his usual, perceptive self, because suddenly the former Freelancer was sitting up in bed, frowning.

“Oh fuck, don’t tell me,” he said, staring at Tucker like he might suddenly burst into flames.

Tucker didn’t like that look. He didn’t like anyone feeling sorry for him over such inconsequential bullshit. So he’d had sex with a sadistic psychopath a few times, big deal. Wouldn’t be the first time, and he hadn’t even  _ known  _ anyway.

He knew that, so why did Wash’s look hurt so much?

“Don’t tell you what?” Tucker asked, feigning ignorance.

“You and Felix. You were, y’know…” Wash gestured vaguely with his hands to get the point across, but Tucker wasn’t in the mood to be subtle about it. His chest felt heavy and his throat tightened when he thought about how Felix had used and betrayed them. Used and betrayed  _ him. _

“Screwing? Yeah,” he said, softly.

As he said that, he could feel Felix’s hands on him, see the tattoos on the merc’s back and arms, the way the man smiled like he knew something that nobody else did. He heard the things Felix had whispered in his ear: that he cared about him, wanted to protect him, wanted to--

Wash sighed, scrubbing a hand down the back of his neck, and it brought Tucker back to the present. “I was going to say close,” Wash said, his brows furrowing together. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned him. You okay?”

Tucker didn’t realize that his hands were clutching wads of thin infirmary blanket until he saw Wash’s eyes move down to look at them.  He quickly released the blanket and tucked his hands underneath it. “Whatever, dude. I brought them up. Just a lot to think about in here.”

“Yeah,” Wash agreed, punctuating the word with a yawn.

Wash was clearly starting to fall asleep, but Tucker didn’t feel like being left alone with his thoughts just yet.

“So how did you feel about being beat-up bait?” Tucker asked sarcastically. “I sure fucking hated it.”

“It worked,” Wash replied, rolling onto his back with the slightest of expressions to show that his bruises still stung. He stretched out his arms and legs out, and then lay sprawled atop his blanket. “That’s what matters.”

Tucker hesitated before asking this next part. Not too long, though. Wash’s eyes were already closed. “You really think they’ll come back?”

Wash let out a long sigh.“Considering all our enemies tend to do that anyway, I’m thinking yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’ll protect you.”

That last part caught Tucker off guard when it finally registered in his mind, though he couldn’t tell if it made him angry, insulted, or relieved. Angry, because Wash shouldn’t have to protect him. Insulted, because hadn’t he proven by now that he could take care of himself? Relieved, because for the first time in weeks it felt like things were back to normal, or as normal as it got for them. Whatever it meant, Tucker didn’t have a chance to explore it further.  Wash was already snoring softly by the time he worked up the nerve to ask.

***

Wash became his babysitter of sorts over the next few days, though Tucker for the life of him couldn’t figure out why. Wash was overprotective of all of them, controlling and insistent about making sure they were prepared and safe, but this was different. All of Wash’s focus seemed to be on Tucker. He even missed PT to hang out in the infirmary with him.

If Tucker didn’t know better, he would say that Wash had an interest in him. The kind of interest that led to sharing a bed.

But, that was impossible. If there was anything like that between them, Tucker reasoned, wouldn’t he have known at Crash Site Alpha? He’d been convinced Wash was every A in the sexual and romantic orientation handbook possible, and he’d been fine with that. For all he knew, Wash actually was, and he was reading this signals way wrong. Still, there was something here that hadn’t been there before. Something that made Tucker wonder what exactly Agent Washington thought of him.

He hoped it wasn’t guilt over Felix. Just the thought made Tucker’s stomach turn. He didn’t need sympathy because he let crazy stick its dick in him. Sheesh.

Tucker let the subject drop in his mind as soon as Wash walked into his hospital room on the day he was finally being discharged. Wash had on the same dark jeans and grey t-shirt he’d been wearing when Tucker had seen him (Tucker was beginning to suspect that was all civilian clothing Chorus had been able to scrounge up), except now he had on a slick leather jacket.

And damn it, it made him look really hot.

“Still no armor?” Tucker asked as he pulled on his own dark jeans and grey t-shirt (seriously, it must be the only thing Chorus had). 

Wash shook his head and held up a finger. “One more day, than I’m back in what I belong.”

Tucker missed his armor, too. After living in it for so long, he felt naked without it. Not the fun kind of naked, either. The terrifying kind that made you feel weak and vulnerable.

“What are you here for?” Tucker asked.

Wash shrugged, burying his hands deep in his pockets.

“Well, now that you’re free, I thought I’d show you around.” Wash’s eyes darted up to the ceiling, and his cheeks and neck were flushing bright red. Wow, he was really bad at this.

“Anywhere in particular?” Tucker asked, genuinely curious. “As long as it isn’t the training rooms.” He’d have plenty of time to learn how to kick Felix’s ass if he ever saw him again another time.

Tucker was fully dressed, and now came the hard part: standing up without falling back into his bed. He tested the floor with his feet, when a hand appeared in the air in front of him. Tucker followed the palm up the leather clad arm to Wash’s face.

_ Oh my fucking god, _ Tucker thought. He wants me to hold his hand. Fuck, he’s adorable.

“Would the other beat-up bait like to get some food?” Wash asked with a small, awkward smile.

Tucker took Wash’s held-out hand with a grumble. Heat was pooling in his face, and now he felt like the guy awkwardly trying to flirt. When did that happen? “You’re buying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *[Biofoam sounds painful.](http://halo.wikia.com/wiki/Biomedical_foam)  
> 


End file.
